


Muster Up With Weary Hearts

by n_a_feathers



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, M/M, Rural Australia, Soldier Settlement Scheme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 23:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12971091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_a_feathers/pseuds/n_a_feathers
Summary: When Barry's 9, a bedraggled and injured Leonard Snart knocks on Dr Henry's door in the middle of the night with his sister in tow, looking for help. The next day they're gone without a trace and Barry wonders if it was all a dream.Almost a decade later they reappear in his life and promptly turn it upside down.The 1920s rural Australian AU that literally no one asked for or wanted.





	Muster Up With Weary Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically my entry for the 1920s AU day of the last ColdFlash Week, which is embarrassing to admit because that was over two months ago. I liked the idea though and wanted to see it through. I was reading I Can Jump Puddles at the time and thought that instead of flappers and prohibition, I'd do a soldier settlement themed story (they always say write what you know, right?). 
> 
> I solemnly swear this will be my last historical AU.

 

 

Barry remembered Leonard Snart.

 

He remembered the wintery night in September, the rain coming down in an unending torrent, his family in the living room huddled around the fire. His mother knitting by lamplight as he sat on his father’s lap and was told a story. He remembered the knock at the door and the look his parents exchanged. As he grew up, he learnt that a knock on the door of a doctor’s house in the middle of the night never meant anything good.

 

Barry remembered his father ushering him over to his mother before heading for the entryway, lamp clenched tightly between his fingers, white-knuckled. His mother took his hand in hers and they followed him as far as the hallway. Before his father reached the door, the knocking came again, more frantic this time. His father rushed the last few steps and hurriedly threw the door open.

 

Barry remembered not being able to see past his father and being torn between wanting to know what horror was out there and hiding behind his mother’s skirts. The latter impulse had mostly won out.

 

Barry knew he must have been able to hear his father’s conversation with their guests at the time, but his memory of the scene in later years was mute. His father quickly turned aside and let the visitors in. In Barry’s memories their mouths moved but there were no words.

 

Barry knew the pair who entered their house. They were above him in school. Or, at least, the girl still was. Leonard and Lisa Snart.

 

Even as a 9-year old, Barry had heard rumours about the Snarts. They weren’t local. That was enough of a black mark against somebody as far as some people in town were concerned, but there was also talk of things having started to go missing since they’d arrived in town with their father. Where their mother was, no one knew.

 

They had kept to themselves at school, always quiet. Their clothes were always threadbare and dirty, their shoes scuffed. Leonard had left the higher elementary last year, as soon as he was legally allowed to. What he’d done after that, Barry hadn’t known.

 

But on that stormy September night, Barry vividly remembered his defiant eyes and the cascade of blood leaking from his nose, down his chin and staining the collar of his rain-drenched, off-white shirt. He remembered hiding behind his mother’s legs as Leonard smiled cruelly at him, his teeth crimson.

 

Barry remembered Lisa following along behind him, demure. Her eyes stayed on the ground and she walked with a limp. He hadn’t understood at the time what could have happened to them both. Although he was a doctor’s son, his father had tried his hardest to keep him from being exposed to the realities of his profession. In his young mind, Barry just knew that sometimes his father was called and he would have to leave immediately. Sometimes that meant he would have to abandon a game he’d been playing with Barry. While this upset him at the time, Barry still felt a general kind of awe and respect for the importance his father’s occupation seemed to have.

 

Barry remembered being quickly ushered away once the Snart siblings were inside the house. His mother put him to bed and took blankets from the linen press as she left him in the dark. He had strained his ears, wanting more than anything to know what was going on, but he heard nothing more than a murmur through the wall.

 

In the morning there was no trace of their nocturnal visitors. Nor did his parents ever mention it. In time, Barry almost came to believe that he’d dreamt the whole scene up.

 

He didn’t see the Snart siblings or their father around town again after that night.

 

 

\------

 

Barry raced through town like the devil was hot on his heels. Dust from the road flew up behind him as he dodged pedestrians and carriages alike.

 

After a half-day sitting at a desk, listening to the teacher and taking notes, then the long train ride home, it was a relief to stretch his legs like this. He’d been a regular at the athletics club that met down by the lake ever since he’d entered the higher elementary and continued the practice after moving to Geelong to board at college. In all honesty though, he didn’t care much for winning. The pleasure of running for him was in rush of the wind past his ears and the burn in his legs.

 

To get home from the train station he had to go up Scott Street and then turn towards the state school at the convent. He almost ran into old Mrs O’Connell coming out of the railway hotel, avoiding her only by a quick dodge to the left. He called out his apologies behind him but didn’t stop. People around town were used to his antics.

 

He was quick enough that the primary students at the Catholic school were still milling about outside the gates, some resaddling ponies and some starting the walk home as he passed by. All of the girls were in identical pinafores while the boys wore crisp shorts and blazers. They were a bit more lax at the state school and Barry himself had worn a hodgepodge that only just managed to obey the school dress code when he had attended the higher elementary. The grammar school he was boarding at now was far stricter though.

 

He slowed down to a walk and looked in fearful reverence upon the Sisters of Mercy herding the children into some kind of order. His own family were Presbyterians and they went to the looming bluestone church on the opposite side of the road to the convent. It had a massive pipe organ in it, shipped over from England. Sometimes he’d get paid to work the bellows on Sunday. It was a tiring job and he hated being asked to do it in summer. Not even the thick walls of the church could keep out the dry summer heat and by the time church was over he was so drenched in sweat that he looked like he’d just walked out of a lake.

 

In fact, it was starting to heat up now as the end of the year and summer approached. As soon as he was out of eyesight of the nuns he started running again and by the time he made it home, his cotton shirt was stuck to his chest with sweat and his hair hung limply.

 

The front gate banged against the fence as he bounded through it and took the porch stairs in two leap. He rushed through the door and made for his father’s consulting rooms. The left side of the house had always been dedicated to his and his parent’s bedrooms while the right was public rooms. The sitting room was in the front of the house and after that was his father’s work room with its own entrance through a side gate. The kitchen and dining room were in the back.

 

The letter his teacher had given him was still clutched in his hand and he tried to smooth it out as he barrelled along the hallway. He pushed through into his father’s room, a smile threatening to overtake his face.

 

“Barry!”

 

Barry realised his error immediately.

 

His father hadn’t been alone. There was a man – a stranger – standing in front of him, shirt off and chest bared to the doctor’s scrutiny. Barry eyes travelled across the taut planes of his stomach and chest before catching on an ugly scar that marred his right shoulder. He was able to examine it for only a moment before the man was slipping his shirt back on. Barry watched, struck still with embarrassment and something else, as the man fumbled clumsily with the buttons.

 

“I’m sorry, Mr Snart,” said Henry, standing from his stool where he’d been examining his patient and fixing his eyeglasses. “This is my son, Barry. He doesn’t always think before he acts.”

 

Henry gestured his son forward to make his introductions and Barry blushed with shame when the only thing that came from his mouth was: “Who shot you?”

 

His father let out a world-weary sigh. “Like I said.”

 

Then it hit Barry:  his father had said Mr Snart. This was Leonard Snart. The boy who’d knocked on their front door one night and then disappeared from town. He’d grown – but Barry had, too. They were almost the same height now. He’d also filled out if Barry’s brief glance at his chest was anything to go by. He’d always been scrawny at school, not like the farm boys who obviously got that way because of the hard work they did at home, but like the poorer kids, the ones who went out and caught rabbits as a matter of survival. What hadn’t changed were his eyes, and the expression of contempt in them was almost exactly the same as it had been nine years ago.

 

“I’ll be back next week,” Leonard said, shrugging on his coat.

 

He left without ever addressing a word to Barry.

 

Henry clapped a hand to his son’s shoulder when he saw his dejected expression. “Don’t take his standoffishness to heart, son. He was in the war. Men are never the same after that.”

 

“He fought the Germans? Or the Turks?” Barry perked up at the mention of the war. As a younger boy, he’d read news of the war happening off in foreign lands and wanted nothing more than to be over there, proving himself and winning glory. It had been somewhat of a disappointment when peace had been declared before he was even old enough to pass for enlisting age.

 

“I wouldn’t know about that.” A second later, Henry added with an admonishing look, “And I don’t want you asking him about it.”

 

Barry trailed behind Henry as he tidied his workspace. “Is he a regular patient of yours?”

 

“Yes. His arm still gives him trouble. It’s not ideal with all the work he’s got ahead of him.”

 

Barry gave his father a quizzical look.

 

“He’s bought one of the soldier settlements out in Kilead. The whole place’s got to be cleared; it’s virgin bush.”

 

Kilead was a 50 minute ride out of Carang, over the MacMahon Bridge – so named for the Scottish immigrant family who owned most of the land out in that direction. The same family had sold large portions of their land to be used for the soldier settlement scheme following the war. Barry sometimes wished the Allens were important enough to have something named after them but living in the heart of town with no sprawling countryside to their name that didn’t seem like it would ever happen.

 

Barry had passed through Kilead once on the way to Melbourne. It was still, for the most part, dense bushland and speckled with volcanic rock on top of that. His father was right: Mr Snart would have a lot of work ahead of him.

 

“He’s all alone out there?”

 

Henry continued shuffling papers. “He’s got his sister with him, brought her down from Melbourne when he came, the poor girl. She’ll be bored witless out there.”

 

Barry leant back against the desk and tried to catch a glimpse at his father’s work. His studies at the grammar school had only made him hungrier for more knowledge. “Maybe she’ll come into town for the dances.”

 

“Don’t you start getting ideas. She’d be too old for you.”

 

“I think I remember something…” Barry took up his father’s nib pen and twirled it between his fingers. “Leonard and his sister coming to our house late at night once when I was really young. Did that happen?”

 

“It did.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Henry sighed wearily, plucking the pen from Barry’s fingers before he could drop it. “I don’t know if it’s my story to tell. I’ll just say that their father wasn’t a very nice man and leave it at that.” A heavy silence fell on the room for several long moments before Henry finished his tidying and turned to face his son. “Now, what made you burst into my rooms in such excitement?”

 

Barry started, having forgotten entirely the reason for his hurried entrance into his father’s office. The note was still clutched in his hand but slightly worse for wear for the fact that he’d clenched his fists under Leonard’s derisive scrutiny. Barry smoothed it out against his thigh and then brandished it in front of him.

 

His father approached and leant in close to decipher his teacher’s cramped handwriting.

 

“Your teacher’s recommending you to the University of Melbourne?”

 

“Yes! There’s an exam before the end of the school year and if I do well enough, he thinks I might be eligible for a scholarship.”

 

“This is excellent news, Barry. All your hard work’s paying off. I couldn’t have hoped for more for you.”

 

Barry beamed under Henry’s obvious pleasure at the news.

 

“Come on, let’s tell your mother. She’ll be overjoyed.”

 

 

 

\------

 

 

“Mr Snart!”

 

Len had just come out of the saddlery where he’d been organising some tack for the gelding they’d bought to use around the farm. He’d been about to head home but he slowed down and turned to see who was calling him. A youth, tall and gangly with thick brown hair and an angular face stood only a few metres away, smiling guilelessly. It only took Len a moment to place him and his recollection must have shown on his face because, seeing that he had been recognised, the young man rushed forward to meet him.

 

“You’re the doctor’s son.”

 

“I’m sorry about the other day. I got some good news and couldn’t wait to tell my dad. I didn’t think he’d be with someone.”

 

Len wasn’t about to tell him it was okay. It hadn’t been. He didn’t react well to surprises anymore and he didn’t like people seeing his scar. The boy had managed to upset him on both counts in the span of a minute.

 

His silence didn’t seem to deter the boy, who continued to ramble on.

 

“I’m Barry, in case you don’t remember.” He held out a hand and Len shook it reluctantly. “And you’re Leonard Snart.”

 

“That’s right.” Len really didn’t feel like talking to this kid. He hoped he could make the boy understand he didn’t want company by being as short with his answers as possible. Maybe then he’d be left alone.

 

“Dad says you’re clearing some land out at the soldier’s settlement.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That’s a lot of work,” he remarked gormlessly. “Maybe more than just you and your sister can handle.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

The kid was just not getting the hint.

 

“D’you need any help out on the farm? School’s almost out for the year and I’ll be pretty free all summer.”

 

“Listen, kid,” Len said, turning to look the kid in the face, “you seem nice and all but just leave me alone. We’re not friends.”

 

Barry huffed indignantly. “You’re not that much older than me so stop with the kid stuff. And no one’s friends until they are.”

 

“That makes no sense. _Kid_.”

 

Len strode off purposefully as Barry flushed in anger.

 

“Well bugger off then!” he yelled at Len’s retreating back.

 

\------

 

Leonard Snart came into town every Friday to see Henry and to stock up on supplies. He always came alone.

 

Barry couldn’t entirely explain it to himself – or perhaps he just shied away from doing so – but every week after that he waited in the corridor outside of Henry’s practice suite for Len to finish up his examination and then he trailed after him into town.

 

If Len minded, he never said anything out loud after that first time. He wasn’t much of a talker though, but didn’t seem to mind if Barry filled in the quiet. When the fingers of his right hand began to twitch or his forehead started to crease, Barry learnt to lapse into silence or Len would turn prickly and eventually yell at him to “leave me the bloody hell alone”.

 

Just being in Len’s presence was enough for Barry. He felt like a sunflower, his eyes attuned to Len’s every movement, wilting in his absence. He had felt this way before, but never as intensely. Something had captivated him that first meeting – regardless of how awkward and humiliating it had been. If there had not been that spark, that longing to see him again, Barry probably would have avoided him like the plague in pure mortification.

 

It didn’t matter if Len didn’t feel the same – in fact, Barry pretty much assumed he didn’t and never would. That was a harsh reality he had had to face. Things were different in the city where there were more people and you could be afforded some anonymity but this was the country. Everyone knew everyone and their business.

 

 

\------

 

“This fucking hand!”

 

Lisa ducked even as the axe went soaring off in the opposite direction and Len kicked out at the chopping stump. Some days were good days and some days were bad days. It seemed today was the latter.

 

As Lisa understood it, Len had been lucky that he hadn’t lost his arm entirely. Many other soldiers hadn’t been as lucky. The bullet that had entered his right shoulder had not immediately threatened his life but it had done significant damage to the shoulder blade and the nerves there. His right hand now moved like a badly articulated puppet on his off days. For someone who had relied so heavily on his hands’ dexterity before the war to make his living, it was a maddening blow.

 

So sometimes Len had bad days when he would rant and rave and want to destroy things. Lisa had grown used to it. Other days he would sit outside and stare off into the distance at something Lisa couldn’t see and nothing would get done that day. She preferred the yelling.

 

 

 

\------

 

 

“What do you think of Mr Snart?” Barry asked one night over dinner.

 

His father paused with his fork halfway to his mouth and then dropped it as he gave Barry’s question his full consideration. “I’ve got a lot of time for Leonard Snart.”

 

“Me, too.” Barry beamed at having his own opinion validated. “He’d never ask but I think he needs help out on the farm. He can’t do it all on his own.”

 

“You may have a point,” Henry conceded, knowing that there was more to that statement than face value. He was proven right when Barry continued, only slightly more hesitant.

 

“I want to go out there, stay a while, help out. Do you think that would be alright?”

 

“Barry, you’re 18. You’re old enough to make your own choices. It’s your decision whether you want to help Mr Snart on his farm or not.”

 

“Alright. I’ll head out there tomorrow after his session.”

 

“So soon?” Nora asked in surprise.

 

Barry flushed. “I just thought… well, there’s no time like the present.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

 

“What’s this then?” Lisa asked, wiping her hands off on her apron as Len and Barry rode up to the house. A blue heeler dashed past her and wove between the horses’ hooves, yapping excitedly.

 

“A stray kitten followed me home. Can’t seem to get rid of him.”

 

“Is he staying for tea?”

 

“If you’ll have me, miss.” Barry dismounted, wiped his hand off against his trousers and held it out for Lisa to shake. “Barry Allen, I’m the doctor’s son.”

 

“At least one person around here’s got manners.”

 

“He’s staying the week. Gonna help out around the farm.”

 

Lisa snorted. “You’ve got a long way to go before you can call this a farm, brother.”

 

Barry had to agree. Their lodging was a makeshift bark hut and, while it was fine for summer, Barry very much doubted it would do much against the elements come winter. Len was probably planning on building something a little more permanent once they’d settled in and cleared enough land. That was a long way off though by the look of it. Sure, Len had made a start and there was a large swath of land bare of trees, but Barry could only assume it represented only a small proportion of the whole farm. He suddenly felt glad he’d made the decision to come out and help. It would take Len forever doing it himself and he’d no doubt wreck his body in the process.

 

Lisa welcomed him into their small home like he was part of the family, fussing over him and doling him out an extra portion that he really felt he didn’t deserve.

 

When he objected she just smiled at him indulgently and said, “You’ll need the extra energy for all the work Lenny’ll make you do tomorrow.”

 

She wasn’t wrong.

 

It was hard work clearing the land. They started early and worked until it got too hot. That’s when they’d take a break, laying in the dirt under the small shade the hut afforded them as Lisa brought them out victuals to keep their energy up. Once they were revitalised they’d begin again and go until the sun started to set.

 

Barry was entirely unused to this kind of work – having spent the last 4 years in the city at his boarding school – and so for the first few days he criticised himself for not being physically able to keep up with Len’s pace. The second day he could barely move, his limbs protesting every action. By the second week he was starting to feel as if he was making a significant contribution though. It was gratifying to see the land slowly empty of rocks and trees as the days went by.

 

When they took their breaks, Len would often take off his shirt and soak it in a tub of water to cool him down when he put it back on. Barry would sneak glances out of the corner of his eye. Maybe he wasn’t that subtle though. One time a bead of sweat ran down Len’s neck, down his chest and pooled in his belly button and Barry couldn’t tear his eyes away from it the entire time. The desire to follow its journey with his tongue weighed heavily in his gut and he had to forcibly tear his eyes away before he embarrassed himself. He didn’t think Len noticed at least. Barry was enjoying his company; he’d hate to be sent away.

 

Len wasn’t always easy to be around though. Some days he’d snap at nothing and swear up a storm. Barry just remembered what his father had told him about the soldiers who had come back from the Great War and walked away. He tried to ignore the things Len said, the ones intended to drive him away or make him angry, but it was hard. The words stuck with him for an hour, an afternoon or a day, long after Len was back to his usual self.

 

At night they slept on blankets thrown over straw, a far cry from the proper spring bed Barry enjoyed at home. Most of the times he collapsed on the makeshift bed and fell straight asleep, exhausted from a full day of physical labour, but on the nights when he still had energy to burn he found himself maddeningly aware of just how close Len was to him, so still in sleep except for the gentle sound of his breathing.

 

Barry and Len would bath properly once a week in an old tin bucket they set up next to the outdoor fire pit but otherwise made do with a wet rag the rest of the time. Lisa had a porcelain jug and basin she used daily that were the only nice and new-looking items in the whole hut.

 

At night Barry would see her kneeling in the kitchen in the lamplight, hands clasped together in front of her, her mouth working silently as the rosary went from bead to bead between her fingers. Len would scoff if he was around to see her doing this, but she never acknowledged his derision. She never went into town for the Sunday service though, didn’t even go in with Barry and Len for the weekly shop and appointment with Henry, not once in the entire time he was there. He thought that was a little odd, but who was he to judge?

 

 

\------

 

 

The sun was barely in the sky but already it was too hot to work.

 

“Today’s a write-off,” Len said, leaning out from under the meagre shade the hut’s roof offered and feeling the sweltering heat beat down on him. They’d managed to get a little bit of work done before it became too unbearable. Already in the short amount of time Barry had been there they’d cleared a decent amount of bush, setting aside the best pieces of wood to be used later for the house and fencing.

 

“Wanna go take a dip in the pond?”

 

Barry wiped the sweat from him brow with a hanky. “Can we get to the creek from here?”

 

“Cowleys?” Len considered it for a moment. “It’s probably not that far if we go cross country.”

 

“Then let’s go for a swim there.”

 

“Don’t be stupid.”

 

“No, hear me out. It’ll be great. We’ll cool down, take a bath. What else are we gonna do all day?”

 

“Enjoy the peace and quiet without you,” Lisa remarked from inside the house and Len laughed.

 

“You’ll go with me, Len, won’t you?” Len’s groan as he hoisted himself up from the ground and headed towards the horse was answer enough.

 

“Take the dog,” Lisa called after him. “There’ll be plenty of snakes out today.”

 

Barry left the shade and headed for where they kept the tack, the sweat dripping down his back from just that small exposure to the full sun, but stopped when Len called out to him. “What’re you doing?”

 

“Getting my horse saddled?”

 

“Don’t bother. Hop on behind me.”

 

After a moment’s hesitation, Barry swung up behind Len. Len had put the bit in but left the horse bareback and keeping his distance proved almost impossible for Barry, especially when Len grabbed his arms from behind and wound them around his midsection.

 

“Hold on tight.”

 

It was all Barry could do not to let the close proximity of their bodies affect him. He was pushed flush all along Len’s back from chest to groin and he was hyperaware of the other man’s body heat and the shifting of the muscles in his back and arms as he controlled the horse. When he breathed in, all he smelt was Len.

 

The blue heeler ran beside them, tongue lolling. It wasn’t a long ride to the creek but, with the heat of the day and the stress of being so close to Len, sweat was fairly pouring off Barry by the time they arrived.

 

He dismounted first and surveyed the area as Len tied up the horse under the shade. It was a nice spot. The creek banks were lush with gum trees, paperbark and native grasses. They created a decent cover of shade which brought the temperature down by a few degrees.

 

Len walked past Barry, shucking his shirt and hanging it on a low-lying branch. Next came his boots and socks, and then—

 

“What’re you doing?” Barry squeaked.

 

Len turned to look at him in confusion, his trousers unbuttoned and halfway down his thighs already. “If you want to ride around in wet clothes, getting all chafed up, be my guest.”

 

Then the trousers were gone, followed quickly by his underwear. Len hung them up and then Barry looked on like a stunned mullet as he ran down the bank and into the water, lengths of sun-kissed skin on display.

 

Barry followed at a more sedate pace, hopping out of his shoes, socks, trousers and shirt. He hovered by the water’s edge in only his underwear, watching as Len swam out a few metres using a leisurely breaststroke. The movement in his right arm was clumsy, drawing Barry’s eyes to the white starburst that marred the skin of his shoulder blade. It stood out all the more because of his dark tan. Barry wanted to touch it. He wanted to touch all of Len.

 

Barry flushed scarlet when Len turned around in the water and caught him watching. Their eyes met and Barry remembered what he was supposed to be doing. His hands settled on the waistband of his drawers. His fingers trembled imperceptibly – he hoped – as he unbuttoned them. He glanced up, expecting Len to look away so he could take them off and get in the water, but he held Barry’s gaze steadily.

 

With Len’s eyes on him, he slid the drawers down and stepped out of them. He’d never felt more naked in his life. He hurried down the creek bank, seeking the coverage that the water offered. It was easier then.

 

Len splashed him on his way in and he splashed back and soon they were tussling playfully in the water, rough housing like schoolboys. The casual touches soothed something in Barry he hadn’t known was wrong until then and he realised he could live like this. This could be enough. This was enough.

 

Once they’d tired themselves out, they lay down on the bank, smiling and naked as the day they were born, and waited to dry off.

 

“You know what, Barry Allen?”

 

“What?”

 

“Sometimes you do have good ideas.”

 

 

\------

 

 

Barry liked it best about 8 o’clock when the sun was just setting, after they’d packed up for the day and had their dinner, when they sat outside side by side as the heat of the day leeched away into something more pleasant. Len would lay back and smoke a fag as hordes of cockies wheeled and screamed overhead, the sky ablaze in oranges and pinks in the west.

 

More often than not they spent these moments in silence. Sometimes Len would permit Barry to ramble on about everything and nothing; sometimes Lisa would join them and entertain Barry with stories of Melbourne. She’d joined a knitting group during the war, making supplies for men like her brother who had been fighting overseas, and the bawdy stories she told of the women she’d met there made Barry’s ears blush and Len laugh heartily. He in turn told them about the other boys at his boarding house and the pranks they got up to.

 

It felt so right to head in to bed once the sky was black, Len by his side. Barry could spend the rest of his life like this easily.

 

\------

 

 

A few weeks into Barry’s stay at the Snarts’, after a morning of Len being taciturn and twitchy, Len decided suddenly they were going to the pub for a few drinks. Barry thought for a second he meant making the long trip into town but it soon came about he was referring to Silby’s Hotel on the other side of MacMahon’s Bridge.

 

Lisa pulled Barry aside while Len went to get the buggy ready.

 

“Keep an eye on him.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“He doesn’t handle crowds too well.”

 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Lisa.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

Barry had already forgotten Lisa’s warning by the time they crossed the creek, the wheels of the buggy rattling over the wood and tar bridge. The sun was still high in the sky, beating down on their backs as they tied up the horse and made their way inside.

 

“What can I get you boys?” asked the blonde barmaid once they’d made their way through the men crowding the small public bar.

 

“A couple of beers, thanks, love.”

 

The beers arrived quickly and they found a place to sit near the back. They spent the time amicably enough, Barry telling Len about his time at college and all the antics the boys got up to at the boarding house as he nodded along with a cigarette between his lips.

 

As it drew closer to 6 the throng around the bar increased, men handing over money and drinking their beers down as soon as they got them so they could order another. Barry remembered Lisa’s warning and tried to keep him and Len as far away from the chaos as he could but at ten to Len’s pot ran out and he was insistent on getting another before the bar closed.

 

Barry didn’t know how exactly it happened, but suddenly there was a fight going on and Len was in the middle of it, fists lashing out wildly and madness in his eyes. One of his punches knocked a man to the ground and then he was on him and hitting him over and over again and Barry felt like the sound of it tunnelled straight into his brain, the damage he was doing to the man’s face making Barry’s stomach flip unpleasantly.

 

Someone jostled him from behind and woke him from his horrified fugue. He rushed forward, dodging punches and kicks, and dragged Len off the man, getting an elbow to the face for his troubles. He staggered back, hand to his nose and groaned as he felt blood drip between his fingers and to the floor, shockingly bright red.

 

Len was immediately right in front of him, his face all Barry could see, with regret in his eyes as he shepherded Barry away from the continuing fight, using his own body to shield him, and pressed a hanky to his nose. “Barry, I’m so sorry.”

 

It was easy then to pull Len from the pub and to the buggy. He was as pliant as a tamed animal and as lacking in initiative. Barry had to attach the buggy to the horse himself and then lead Len to climb up into it. The entire drive home he remained quiet.

 

When they got home, Lisa didn’t seem surprised in the least. She took Len by the hand and led him off as Barry took care of the horse.

 

Barry felt ashamed. He’d meant to be looking after Len – had been specifically warned that something like that could happen – and he’d ignored the signs until it was too late.

 

His nose throbbed pain as he slipped inside the hut and into his bed, avoiding Lisa and Len as best he could in the two room building.

 

 

\------

 

 

Barry jolted awake when he heard screaming. He looked around him, temporarily disorientated by the pitch darkness. There was thrashing not far from him, and then a rustling of cloth.

 

“Lenny.”

 

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness Barry could make out Lisa kneeling beside Len, keeping her distance while calling his name until he jolted upright, breathing hard but now obviously awake. He looked around, confusion and fear on his face until his eyes landed on his sister and then he seemed to calm instantly.

 

“Are you okay?” she whispered to him.

 

“Yeah, sorry,” he replied, just as quietly, and Barry realised they thought he was still asleep and were trying not to wake him. “It’s nothing.”

 

Barry saw Lisa’s frown at that and agreed. It most definitely hadn’t been nothing. She didn’t contradict Len though and Barry suspected she had her reasons. She’d probably been dealing with this for years while Barry had only blown into their lives a couple of weeks ago.

 

Lisa returned to her bed. Barry stayed up a long time after, listening as Len’s breathing evened out into something normal and then gentled even further in sleep.

 

Only once he knew Len was at peace did he let himself slip into slumber.

 

 

\-----

 

 

One night they stayed up later than usual under the light of the full moon.

 

Lisa had already retired for the night so it was just the two of them lying side by side in the dirt and looking up at the stars. Something made Barry feel braver that night. Perhaps it was the moon itself; his father always said the full moon made men mad. Or maybe it was just something in the quiet comradery that lay between them. Either way, the question “Why’d you join?” slipped from his mouth before he could think better of it.

 

He half expected Len to swear at him or walk off without a word. He wouldn’t have blamed him. But perhaps a little of that moon-madness was working on Len too. He puffed on his cigarette as he tilted his head in consideration and when he finally spoke, it was quite calmly.

 

“I thought I was doing the right thing for once. Thought I’d come back a hero.” He scoffed. “Look how that turned out.”

 

Barry didn’t speak. The moment felt too fragile, like one wrong word could shatter it. Len stayed quiet for a very long time, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence.

 

“I joined up the day I turned 18. Faked a letter from my father to do it. If they’d picked up on the lie, I would’ve tried my luck somewhere else pretending to be 21. I thought it’d be a big adventure. It was hell.”

 

Barry decided to push his luck and asked, “Where did they send you?”

 

“To Egypt first, after training. Then on to France.”

 

Before Barry could ask anymore, Len hoisted himself up from the ground, butted out his fag on the ground and headed for the hut alone.

 

 

\-----

 

 

“The Mara dance is on this weekend. We should go, it’ll be fun.”

 

Len raised a sceptical eyebrow at his sister.

 

“You never know, it could be. Maybe you’ll find your future wife and I can go back to my glamorous life in the city.”

 

That comment was like a knife to Barry’s heart. He was enjoying being with Len almost every waking hour and was overcome with jealousy at the idea that some girl could take that away from him so easily. If Len found a sweetheart at the dance, they’d eventually get married and she’d move out here. The hut was tiny, they wouldn’t want Barry around. He knew enough about the world to know that newlyweds needed their privacy.

 

Len looked to him and he forced his face into a neutral expression. “I’ll go if you go.”

 

Barry shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

 

 

\-----

 

 

The dance was already in full swing when they pulled up and got the horse unburdened and tied up. The sound of the band had led them the last kilometre.

 

Lisa looked vibrant, completely at ease and in her element as they walked into the hall and paid their entrance fees. She flitted off as soon as she had a dance card in hand, disappearing into the crowd without a backwards glance. Len on the other hand looked completely uncomfortable. Barry led him over to the food tables to deliver the cake Lisa had prepared and then kept him to the corners where people didn’t congregate in such clustered groups. He remembered what had happened at the pub and didn’t want a repeat.

 

Eventually Barry was pulled into conversation with people he knew from town and school. Between one exchange and the next he turned around and Len was gone. He panicked for a second before remembering that Len was an adult, and he’d survived 24 years already without Barry’s assistance. He’d be fine.

 

Nevertheless, Barry finished up his current conversation quickly and began doing a circuit of the room, searching for Len in the groups of people milling about the walls. He was almost about to take his search outside when Barry looked across the room and there was Len in the middle of the hall, dancing closely with a girl.

 

She was pretty, Barry would admit that, and she moved gracefully enough. She smiled as Len spoke and at one point, she laughed, throwing her head back and exposing the graceful curve of her neck.

 

Barry hated her with an irrational hate.

 

The hall was suddenly too stuffy, the band too loud, the room too crowded. Barry pushed through the throngs of people, growing more desperate the longer it took, until he burst out the front doors and into the night.

 

“Barry?”

 

Barry turned to see one of his old classmates from the higher elementary in town leaning against the building, smoke in one hand and a bottle in his other. Time and work had chiselled his body into something hard looking and tough.

 

“Jack.”

 

“How’re you?”

 

“Not too bad. You?”

 

“Same old. Want some?”  


Barry took the offered bottle. The first pull of it was foul, the second not that much better. But the longer he drank, the less he cared. He hung to the sides of the hall, making small talk with people he’d known at school years ago.

 

“What’s new with you?”

 

“Getting married next month. Me missus is in there dancing now.”

 

“Congrats,” Barry said and he meant it. The idea of Len dancing happily with that girl in there left a sour taste in his mouth but he was still a romantic at heart. “Are you still on your dad’s farm?”

 

“Yeah. Have you got anyone special in your life?”

 

Barry hesitated. “There is someone, but I don’t think it’ll come to anything.”

 

“Pity.”

 

“Yeah.” Barry took another mouthful of whiskey.

 

It was a while later, when his body was warm and the world was getting unsteady, that Len suddenly appeared at his side from nowhere. Barry leant closer to him until they were shoulder to shoulder.

 

“Star-gazing?”

 

Barry hummed an answer that was neither an affirmative nor a negative.

 

“Come on.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Just come on.”

 

Barry pushed off the building and followed Len as he headed away from the hall, in the opposite direction to where the horse and buggy were tied up. They walked until they reached the creek. Someone had planted weeping willows along it – a stark contrast to the rigid native trees – and their branches hung heavy above the water.

 

Len motioned him to sit down on a log that had washed up on the side of the creek and thrust another brown bottle in Barry’s direction. He took it without question.

 

Len jumped up onto the log beside Barry, the liquid inside the beer bottle he held in his right hand sloshing out as his arms windmilled to keep his balance. Barry tried to grab at his trouser leg to get him to come down before he fell and hurt himself, but he deftly avoided the reaching hand.

 

Len steadied himself, allowing quiet to descend on the riverbank, and then he began to sing.

 

“Up to mighty London came an Irishman one day…”

 

It took Barry only a moment to recognise the tune and then he joined in as well, slipping down off the log to sprawl in the grass and look up at the river of stars above.

 

“It’s a long way to Tipperary…”

 

When the song was over, Len jumped down from the log and held out a hand to him. Barry accepted it and let Len pull him up to standing but when he went to move away, Len wouldn’t let go.

 

“Dance with me.”

 

Barry swatted at him with his free hand and laughed. “Bugger off.”

 

“Come on,” said Len, trying to reel him in. “It’ll be a lark.”

 

Barry had no doubt of that and that’s why he refused. To Len it might just be a bit of fun, taking the piss or something like that, but Barry wanted to dance with him like the girls in the hall danced with the men so much it almost hurt.

 

Len frowned. “What’s got you so cranky?”

 

“Nothing.” Barry renewed his attempts to free his hand but Len was having none of it.

 

“Tell me, Barry.”

 

“No.”

 

Suddenly his hand was cold. Len stepped away and despite his common sense, Barry went to follow him but was held back by Len’s hand against his chest. It didn’t feel as warm as it should. He hoped that Len couldn’t feel his heart beating double-time against his palm. It felt like the loudest sound in the world to Barry; louder than the crickets chirruping, louder than the band back in the hall, louder than the rushing of the creek only a metre away.

 

Then a part of him wished Len _could_ feel it. It was such torture being this close and Len not knowing what he was doing to Barry. Barry pushed against the hand on his chest and it relented but didn’t pull away. He closed the distance between them until they were almost chest to chest and still that damn hand stayed on his heart.

 

Len looked at him from lidded eyes and Barry couldn’t help himself any longer.

 

He surged forward. He had wanted this for so long and now the only thought in his head was getting his mouth on Len’s.

 

It was clumsy. Their teeth clacked together in his haste and there was a slight sting as Barry’s lip split and then a hint of copper. Barry didn’t know where to put his hands so they went everywhere: Len’s face, his neck, his arms, his waist. He didn’t dare open his eyes for fear of what he’d see.

 

It was clumsy, yes, but at the same time, it was perfect.

 

Laughter and the cracking of branches came suddenly from behind them.

 

Barry shot back, putting a couple of metres between Len and himself, breathing hard.

 

Len looked lost.

 

What had he done?

 

Len shouted after him as Barry scrambled up the river bank and away, never looking back for fear of the disgust and hatred he might see behind him.

 

He made it into the hall and spotted Lisa almost immediately. He pulled her away from the group she was talking to, apologising profusely but knowing he had to get out of there as quickly as he could.

 

“Can you believe, Barry?” she said, showing him a posy she hadn’t had when they arrived. “They chose me as belle of the ball.”

 

“That’s… that’s great, Lisa.”

 

She frowned at his distracted answer.

 

“Barry, what is it?”

 

“Lisa, I have to go. I have to get out of here. I’m going home.”

 

“What are you talking about, Barry?”

 

“I’m sorry. I just have to—” He trailed off, not sure how he’d meant to finish that sentence to begin with. Lisa called after him as he slipped from her hold and ran from the hall.

 

He’d ruined everything. It had been perfect and he’d had to go and want more and mess it all up. He just loved Len so much. He wanted him so badly but he knew if he confessed to Len then that would be the end of it. He’d be told in no uncertain terms to pack his bags and get off the Snarts’ land.

 

He was only hurting himself continuing to stay with the Snarts. It was better if he cut off ties now while he still had some dignity.

 

Barry headed towards the horses with no further plans than getting the hell out of there as quickly as possible. For once the universe smiled on him and he spotted Jack getting his horse strapped into their buggy.

 

“Hey Jack, are you going through Carang on your way home?”

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“Think I could hitch a ride home with you?”

 

“Sure thing. Hop in.”

 

Barry climbed up and sat between two young men he vaguely recognised, making himself small, hiding in the dark, in case Len came searching for him. By the time they were ready to go, he was split between being relieved Len hadn’t materialised and being disappointed for the same reason.

 

The rocking of the buggy left him feeling sick to his stomach.

 

It was a long ride home.

 

 

\----

 

 

The next morning he woke up in his comfortable bed, the solid walls of his room insulating against outside noises. No sound of horses gently whinnying and pulling up grass, no native birds serenading the coming of the day, no Len and Lisa going about their morning duties quietly. He lay there for a long time, cotton-mouthed and headachy, regretting every decision that had led him to this point.

 

Eventually he went to the washroom to shave and saw his image reflected back at him in the mirror for the first time in close to a month. He wondered at the changes in his face and body that his time on the farm had effected. He looked older, more like a man than a boy.

 

He made a decision there and then – the adult decision. He wouldn’t seek out Len, he’d get out of the house when he came for his appointments with Henry. He’d try to forget and move on.

 

 

\---

 

 

“Leonard has an appointment today.”

 

Barry continued to look down at the newspaper with studied expressionlessness as he kept eating his breakfast. “Yeah?”

 

“At 11,” his father persisted. When Barry refused to react, Henry sighed. “Are you going to run off and hide again like last week?”

 

Barry flushed with indignation and finally met Henry’s eyes. “I didn’t run off and hide!”

 

Henry shook his head sadly. “I wish you’d tell me what happened. The two of you keep secrets as well as spies. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

 

“No, it was all my fault. I… did something stupid. Messed it all up. He doesn’t want me helping out anymore.”

 

“Are you going to come out for gala night tomorrow?” Henry asked.

 

Barry considered it. It was doubtful Len would go if he had a choice in the matter, but Lisa might not give him one. Gala night was the main night in a year when people would converge on the town all at once to celebrate the holiday season. There was a parade of floats, bands playing in the rotunda and all kinds of other competitions and festivities.

 

He could imagine catching sight of Len’s close-cropped hair in the crowd with his distinctive widow’s peak and his heart jumped at just the thought of it.

 

“No, I think I’ll stay in.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

Barry caught the packed early train from Carang station out to the racecourse. The New Year’s Day races were an annual event and they were always well attended by locals and those from further abroad. They were taking up a public subscription at the gate for a war memorial and Barry thought of Len who’d come back alive but broken. He pledged what he could. Already the stand and the areas in front of the track were filling up with people as the thoroughbreds went through their paces in the parade ring.

 

Barry wasn’t a gambling man by nature, but since he was a boy he’d always put one bet on for the New Year’s races. He used the results of that race as a gauge for how the rest of his year would go.

 

He was at the parade ring, arms folded on top of the barrier, surveying the potential winners of future races when someone came up and stood right beside him.

 

“I almost thought you were avoiding me,” said Len, not looking at Barry but out at the horses. The sight of him was like a punch to the gut, like coming out into bright sunshine after days in the dark. Barry had thought he could get over him with enough time and distance. He knew now that he’d only been lying to himself. Barry would always be desperately, hopelessly in love with Len.

 

“I was.”

 

Len scoffed. “You’re shit at it then.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Barry hung his head, refusing to look at Len. He knew he had to apologise if they were ever to return to a shadow of the friendship they’d once had, but that didn’t make it any less scary. “I shouldn’t have done _that_. You can deck me if you want.”

 

A beat of silence, and then:

 

“What if I wanted you to do it again?”

 

Barry’s head moved so fast he could’ve given himself whiplash. Len was still staring pointedly off into the middle distance with a noticeable tenseness to the way he held his jaw.

 

“The station.”

 

It was Len’s turn to look at him in surprise. “What?”

 

Barry’s cheeks felt like they were ablaze, he could only imagine how flushed he was. In a low voice, tongue tripping over his words, he sought to explain in the least assuming way he could. “There won’t be anyone at the station. I came in on the last train of the morning; the next one won’t come ‘til after lunch.”

 

He needn’t have worried. Len’s grin was positively wicked as he backed into the crowd, his eyes on Barry the whole time, electric and paralysing, until the throngs of people swallowed him up. Then Barry was sprinting, ducking and twisting to keep him within sight, his face aching from smiling so widely. Once they passed the admission box, the people thinned out considerably and by the time they crossed racecourse road and were halfway to the station, they were the only ones about. Len reached out and clasped his hand as they dashed the last few metres to the station entrance.

 

Barry pulled Len through the waiting room and into the luggage closet, shutting the door behind them. The station was only ever opened on race days and so the room was almost entirely empty, more of a storage room for old furniture than anything. He ran his hands over Len’s face, mapping the features he’d adored up close for so long and then lost.

 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered reverently and Len surged forward, pushing them up against the wall between two filing cabinets and capturing his mouth in a kiss.

 

It was good. So good. Not hazy with drink, not soaked in uncertainty. He wanted Len and Len wanted him. There was nothing else.

 

“I’ve got some cattle coming soon,” Len said into the hair’s breadth between their lips. “I could use a hand.”

 

“Yeah?” Barry asked, smiling.

 

“Yeah.”

 

 


End file.
